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A MEN AGE A TROIS -^ 
ACROSS THE STYX 

cAND OTHERo 

ADVENTURES IN VERSE 

-by 

Lt. Col. sir frank POPHAM YOUNG 

K. B. B., C. I. E. 




A. M. ROBERTSON 

SAN FRANCISCO 



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Copyright, 1922 
By Lt. Col. Sir Frank Popham Young 



M IS 1923 

©C1A697001 

Made by Sunset Press 



^^ I 



CONTENTS 

1. Kismet 

2. In the Mist. 

3. California or Cathay 

4. Vox Feminae Vox Dei 

5. Kl and K2 

6. Intercessional. 

7. A Cup of Cold Water 

8. Noblesse Oblige 

9. Creeds, Constellations, and Creeping Things 
10. A Menage a Trois Across the Styx 



TO THE LADY 

WHO HAS PLACED HER HAND IN MINE 
COME WEAL OR WOE 
THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATE 
F. P. Y. * 



"KISMET' 






HAT which is built by mortal hands 

Time lays to waste, 
But 'tis not so with those mysterious 
commands, 
Which on man's forehead traced, 
Link life with life by interwoven strands 
Of Destiny. These cannot be effaced. 



[1] 



"IN THE MIST" 



a 



OVE has thundered, Venus beckoned, 
Thor and Odin held their sway; 

(See the light upon the mountain 
And the ripple on the sea!) 

Brahma counselled, Shiva threatened; 
Christ has died. 

(Hear the rustle on the mountain 
And the murmur of the sea!) 

Sternly preached Mahommed; 

Gently smiling, practised Buddha. Yet alway 
Human steps have wandered. 

Human hearts have cried 
"What is Truth? But lift the curtain, 
Making Love more pure, and Faith more certain." 
(The light has died upon the mountain — 

Mists enshroud the sea). 



2] 



CALIFORNIA OR CATHAY 



X 



RESTED in the Shalimar where, tier on tier, 
The jewelled garden nestles 'neath th' eternal 

hills, 
And broods above the sleeping surface of the 
lake. 

The great "chenar" trees whispered "It was here 
Jehangir held his court," and all the little rills 
Told of a storied Past. I pondered only half awake; 

Pictured the smooth and scheming courtiers, silken 

clad. 
When Islam with a fierce, intense, and vivid sweep 
Led, dominated, ruled, and then declined. 
By sloth and luxury beguiled, and power-mad, 
Akbar's great Empire-fortress tottered till its keep, 
Sapped by fanatic hate, was slowly undermined. 

And then the jangled music of soft camel bells 
Announced a "Kafila" beyond the carven gate. 
Austere and supercilious, gaunt, reluctant, slow, 
From Samarkand, Bokhara — weaving magic spells — 
These central Asian genii discharged their freight, 
Into the living present, stark Romance of long ago. 

I watched the bearded, hawk-nosed trader from afar. 
Engirt with pistols, hung about with keen edged 

knives. 
And judged his treasure to be something worth. 
Perchance 

He carried priceless jewels — some great, shining star 
Of Asia ! Or perchance this care betokened wives 
Suspect of light and loose — and dangerous — dalliance. 

NOTE: Kafila — a train of camels. 

[3] 



He made ablutions. Then with fervent, supple grace 
Salaamed to Allah, faced the setting sun in prayer. 
A half raised "burka," which had draped the form 
Of one who, patient, sat behind, revealed a face 
Which well might turn an Emperor from the fretting 

care 
Of march and countermarch, of combat, siege, and 

storm. 

Long curving lashes swept the olive tinted cheek 
Stained with a tea-rose flush. Then slowly 

dropped the veil. 
The little figure softly lit upon the ground. 
To outward seeming humble, acquiescent, meek, 
Followed the age old path of servitude behind the 

male, 
Rebel at heart — her eyes had told it — gagged and 

bound. 

Long years have passed, and more than half the 

circled world 
Divides me from that terraced garden of delight. 
Softened by night the rough Pacific hills enfold. 
On the calm bosom of the bay the sails are furled. 
The water plashes and low voices of the night 
Bring back to me that scene, the tale that half was 

told. 

The wizardry of art has wrought with loving skill, 
Has caught the spirit of the Orient ; and here 
Curved arches, cunning lines of building, terraced 

slopes, 
The sense of quiet water, and the brooding hill, 
The richly perfumed air — all waft me to Kashmir, 
And tell a thousand tales of bygone fears and hopes. 

[41 



Once more I see that stealing glance with eyes abrim, 
The little henna-tinted feet, the blush, the blanch 

of fear, 
As gleaming in the folds of his silk "kamarband" 
Sharp steel forbade all speech with any man but him, 
(Owner of lips unsmiling. Lord of a tremulous tear) 
Who brought his wares to India from distant 

Samarkand. 

Written in the garden of the Samarkand Hotel, 
Santa Barbara, Calif., February 28, 1921. 



[5] 



vox FEMINAE VOX DEI 

INSCRIBED TO . 



G 



ARELESSLY I trod and recked not that 
my feet 

Oft injured little peeping things of life. 

The frond unfolding, and the shyly sweet 
Florescence of green leaf and yellow bud. 
Born in a world of strife, 
Small things essayed their wings. 
Or crept, across my path. 
Those little animate things 

I crushed unheeding. Careless hands destroyed them. 
Careless footsteps spilled their innocent blood. 
The righteous wrath 
Of God made me more blind. 
The timid questionings of some untutored mind, 
The gropings of a human soul, 

The silent plea for sympathy — all these sacred claims 
I passed unheeding. Like the sightless mole 
I burrowed, thinking all the while that selfish aims 
Carried me upwards. I had hurt and bruised 
Frail things and tender, newly born. 
For worse than open scorn 
Is chill indifference. I had thus abused 
The trust imposed in me, but gaily went 
Along the open road, blind to the narrow trails 
Which lead through brambles to the dazzling height. 
I had been sent 

To do God's work. The man who fails 
Not in his weakness, but because the light 
Is turned from in a selfish pride 
Had better died 
Before, with calloused soul, he learns 



[6] 



To hold that he is justified 

When he has failed to glimpse the Love, 

All else above, 

For which the whole of Nature aching ever yearns. 

And so, in truth, with eyes I thought uplifted, 
My steps were leading to a dark and ice-cold Hell. 
I had believed I marched and conquered. I had 

merely drifted. 
Then Grod compassioned with me ; and I met, 
And meeting loved — Estelle ! 



7] 



G 



K 1. AND K 2. 

The fourth highest mountain peak in the world has been named bj cartiv 
gTaphers"K. 2." 

HALLENGING the giant Everest 

For world supremacy, it soars 

Lifting its snow clad crest 

Near thirty thousand feet into the azure 
of an Eastern sky, 
Stands sentinel above the rugged tableland of far 

Thibet, 
Whilst from its molten sides it pours 
Great streams of water into the teeming plains 
Where myriad voices ever raise the ceaseless cry 
"Assuage our thirst, enrich our fields, so we forget 
The pangs of hunger and the pains 
Of drought." Through the long years 
This mighty monarch of the Himalayan range 
Skyward rears 

The glittering lancepoint of its ice bound peak. 
Its snow draped sides untrod, 
Nor chance, nor change 

Affect its solemn, silent intercourse with God. 
Remote, mist -shrouded. Science had, perforce, 

to seek 
Amidst the tumbled mass of chasm and cliff, 

ravine and towering mountain top 
Its jealous guarded secret. Located after many years. 
Measured and charted, there appears 
The stately record of this vast outcrop 
Of rock primaeval. No grandiloquence 
Of nomenclature marks its consequence. 



(8] 



K. 2 is all the name 

By which it stands identified 

This far off mountain, which so long defied 

The curious interest of men. Its fame 

E'en now denied. 

****** 

July the twenty-second. Here I sit 

Thinking of just a little bit 

Of femininity. A woman child 

By whose kind eyes beguiled 

The rusting decades slip away, 

And Youth sings sweetly "Life is work and play." 

Vision slips backwards, inwards; and I muse — 

If between dominating forces one could choose 

That which should lead and guide 

Would one abide 

By all that mountain seems to tjrpify — 

(Quest, domination, struggle; add and multiply) — 

In the harsh battle of ambitious aims 

Which made one long to climb and conquer? 

What's the use 
Of scaling heights if, left behind, 
In the cold effort to improve one's mind 
The tender claims 
Of laughing lips 

Of little, rosy, clinging finger tips 
Are passed and there remains, 
For all one's pains, 
A husk without a core, a sapless rind? 



9] 



This other K 

Holds a more potent sceptre, has a wider sway. 

And so I lay 

These verses at her feet 

On this her natal day. 

K. 2, Go too! 

I have no wreath for you. 

This is K. 1. Smile with those bright eyes, Sweet! 

Will you not kiss me, K? 

To Kathleen (Kay) 
On her sixteenth birthday. 



[10] 



INTERCESSIONAL 



TO BESSIE McJ. BARRET 

A LADY FROM 'OLE KAINTUCK', IN WHOM THE 

WRITER HAS BEEN PRIVILEGED TO DISCERN 

THOSE CHIVALROUS QUALITIES WITH WHICH 

HE HAS ENDOWED MOSES HIGGINS. 

THESE VERSES ARE INSCRIBED 

F. P. Y 



INTERCESSIONAL 



X 



N the little room, above the bam, in ole 

Kaintuck 
One Moses Higgins breathed his last. He'd 
followed 'osses 
Most 'is life." These new machines had made things 

hard. 
But that stout heart had never lost its pluck. 
If old Mo' played a card 

And lost, you'ld never hear a whine about his losses. 
I'ld have you know that this old Mo', 
Above whose lonely grave wild grasses blow, 
Deserved as much that greatest epitaph, 
"A gentil, parfait knight," 

As any doughty, mediaeval champion of the fight. 
His sword a reaping hook. 
His spear a staff, 
Nature his Book, 
He played the game, ploughed a straight furrow, 

never lied, 
Lived cleanly, loved devoutly, laid him down — and 
died. 

The blue eyes glazed, and Moses Higgins looked 

upon a screen. 
"The Moses Higgins record!" called a voice. 
A shining figure — Mo' saw him fold his wings — 
Announced the choice. 
I guess it's me they mean, 
Thought Moses. ''That's the Arch-Director, 

Gabriel. 'Hello, Gabe'," he said. 



15] 



"You've got me goin' round in rings." 

"Hold on!" said Gabriel. "We've got to size you 

up a bit 
To see if you pass fit. 
You know you're dead." 

"I guess," said Moses, "they're aint much to show. 
Jus' me behind the 'osses. It's a pretty team. 
The grey mare's savin' her off fore. 
There's Lizzie at the gate. She oughter know 
That I'm out lookin' for her. It do seem 
As if she reckerlected I was kinder sore 
The time she beat it off to town 
With that young drummer chap who called me 

clown. 
But, bless yer, Liz, I've gotten over that this long 

ago. 
You creep in here, and lie all cuddled like yer 

useter — so." 

"What's this yer showin', Gabe? Why that aint 

me! 
I guess that's Romeyo, or that Hamlick guy. 
Who stuck that fat chap, hid behind the curtain, 

with his sword. 
Gosh! How that made me larf! I'm blessed if I 

can't see 
Doug Fairbanks doin' stunts — and that blue eye 
I 'Id know a mile off — Mary Pick — My word! 
You don't say that them is me and Liz 
Cuttin' around, and doin' all that funny biz!" 



[16 



"Why, yes, I'll say that when those actor chaps 
Was showin' how you'ld gotta play the game, 
And keep yer pecker up, and peg away, and tell 

the truth 
And trust yer girl, 
I useter feel 

That I'd no cause to squeal 
Because I didn't seem to make no headway. I 

thought p'raps 
It weren't no shame, 

Me bein' what that drummer called uncouth 
(Yokel was right enough, but when he named me 

churl 
That riz me, and I knocked his silly tooth 
Into his windpipe) — I thought it weren't no shame 
To make pretence that I was jus' the same 
As them bright fellers. I useter step along 
(Me, ole Mo' — some Romeyo!) 
Behind the 'osses with a kind o' song 
Singin' inside me. What's that Gabe? 
You've passed me? Reckon you're some babe. 
I go behind the curtain 'long o' Liz? 
And take the grey mare too? I'll say that is 
Worth waitin' for. I'll tell ole Pete 
That he must keep them actor chaps a seat. 
For sure they helped a lot, and kep things clean 

and sweet. 
When life was kind o' dull and work a grind 
In that ole Kaintuck shanty that I've left behind." 



Written in connection with Actor's 
Benefit Fund Pete at Los Angeles 



[17 



"A CUP OF COLD WATER" 



c 



HE Haberdasher's Assistant saluted the 
clear dawn, 

Scratching the while with unclean 
finger nail 
A festering surface on his thigh, 
With a yellow fanged and offending yawn, 
A bleary eye, and a dismal sigh. 
Half snore, half wail. 



Through the green avenue of trees. 
Along the shining beach, 
They gave their willing horses rein. 
And the look i^ his pleasant tired eyes was like thai of 
a war worn Moor who sees 
In the desert a haven of rest, and a harvest af grain. 
At last within his reach. 



The Haberdasher's Assistant coughed, lay still, 
Caressed a pimple on his chin. 
And slowly counted the coins he had pinched 
By sly manoeuverings with ledger and with till. 
Made play with rusty razor, essayed cold water, 
shivered thereat and flinched. 
And so with dragging steps set forth his 
daily bread to win. 



18 



The little tor inkles round his tired eyes 

Creased into kindliness and mirth. 
Hillside and moor, flood, field and tropic suns. 
The silken salon, music, laughter, azure skies. 
Tempest, harsh conflict, belching guns. 

Had marred and made this man for such as 
he was worth. 



Through door ajar the Haberdasher's Assistant spied 
A bowed and broken figure; (Mary, pity 
women!) Youth astray, 
Hunger and misery enthroned where Love should 
reign ! 
And floundering in the squaHd mire of his Hfe, he 
lied, 
Denied himself, regretted, cursed, denied himself 
again. 
Found strength, gave comfort, shewed a 
better way. 



A Veritable Knight he seemed. 

'*No doubt he'd lived his life." 
(Those little bowed and broken figures by the way!) 
The road stretched fair in front. They talked and 
dreamed. 
( Thus is the balance. Some spend and others pay.) 
Peace after battle. After Experience a wife. 



[19] 



The sun, slow westering, lit the hills across the bay. 

Made glorious the glittering tracery of the trees. 
And cast a halo round her golden hair. 
Aslant, down murky streets the dying day 
Groped for an entry up a narrow stair, 

But, fading, failed to find a form on bended 
knees. 



Is this the balance? In the cosmic veins 

A red corpuscle found a tardy birth. 
And aeons after with a surge as of rising tide, and 

of pent up flood, 
The vivifying Force which rules by yielding, and 

by service reigns. 
Multiplied and martialled the red corpuscles, 

attacked and routed, swept and cleansed the blood. 

And thus did the Haberdasher's Assistant play a 
part in creating a new Heaven long after 
his rickety and calcareous bones had re- 
turned to the good Earth. 



20 



'NOBLESSE OBLIGE' 



"NOBLESSE OBLIGE" 



© 



HE sceptre passes. In the "good old days" 
When Gurth the swineherd waited at the postern 

gate 
And hugged the chains which bound him, 
munched the proffered crust, 
Nor questioned Fate, 
A single golden phrase — 

"Noblesse Oblige" — born in the cut and thrust 
Of those fierce conflicts which ennobled and enslaved 
Men with an equal birthright, helped to compensate 
For all the hideous inequity which ruled — and rules 

— the world. 
'*Dieu et mon droit*' the buccaneering Baron raved, 
With pennons flying, banner of silk unfurled. 
And robbed, and raped, and murdered with his 

chosen partner — God. 
Some fed their appetites. Others hewed the wood 
And drew the water, tilled the kindly soil, 
Broken in spirit kissed the chastising rod, 
Nor understood 

That the keen blade and pointed lance 
Were edged and sharpened by their honest toil. 
The gallant bearing and the gay romance 
Of those who reaped what these poor hinds had sown 
Obscured the issue, and the circumstance 
Of puling infants, cradled in mangers or in palaces, 
Determined who should perish in the fetid hovel, 

who should occupy the gilded throne. 
Thus human fallacies 
Forged chains which link by link 
Priests tempered, monarchs strengthened, lackeys 

and peasants embraced. 



23 



But one thought graced 

Those darkened ages. One lone star shone clear 

And helped the tossed and weather beaten craft to 

steer 
— Though blindly — to a haven where men should 

rest awhile. 
"Noblesse Oblige!" The Golden Rule applied 
To those who held the rank and wealth men almost 

deified. 
"Noblesse Oblige!" Surrender; sacrifice; 
Excuse for ignorance; 
The courteous smile 

When weakness hurled the angry insult; tolerance 
Of human frailties; pity for poverty. In this device 
Emblazoned on the banners of the chosen few 
A world distraught with hates and fears 
Found hope, held faith, gained solace for bitter tears, 
Courage in sorrow, measure of comfort, some 

small ruth for rue. 



The sceptre passes. Rank lingers on the stage 

Superfluous. "Captains and Kings depart." 

Science, not privilege, marks the accepted sage. 

The brains of men, their industry, their art 

Fashion the crowns worth wearing. Fearless eyes 

Look into eyes as fearless. Throughout a continent 

Stretching three thousand miles from sea to sea 

No man so daft 

As to deny his heritage 

Of all the earth. Not one who deifies 

Those ancient fetishes which have meant 



24 



So much to men who had not known the joy of 

being free. 
The crown of freedom presses on the brow 
Of every citizen of America, 
And here in the fair state of CaHfornia 
Where even now, 

When half the world is hungered and athirst, 
The horn is filled with plenty, and the presses burst 
With all the lavish products of a golden soil, 
That crown is studded with a thousand costly gems. 
Enthroned and sceptred by their enterprise and toil 
Winged are their feet to lead men forward. 
Myrrh and frankincense 

Are proffered by proud sovereigns of distant realms, 
Piteous, entreating hands would touch the hems 
Of garments worn by those whose eyes have seen 

the light 
Denied to them ; of men who can dispense 
Their favours regally; whose hands are on the helms 
Of all the little barques which set their timid sails 
To catch the winds of Freedom; of men who've 

fought and won — in part — the fight. 



But what of all that Privilege entails? 
"Noblesse Oblige." How far does that sweet phrase 
Govern men's conduct in these later days 
Of clash and clanguor and of storm and stress? 
These modern monarchs go their several ways 
And ask, no favours, plead for no largesse. 
They've learned to take what's theirs, to hold 
their own. 



25] 



But what of giving? On the bare Caucasian slopes, 
Where the blue Danube rolls, on barren Russian 

plains. 
On Don, on Dneiper, Vistula; on Rhine and Rhone, 
Amidst the tumbled Balkans — everywhere the hopes 
Of famished men, of lonely women, helpless 

orphans, rest upon the generosity of those 

whose gains 
Have not been wasted in the cruel furnace of the war. 
And not in vain the quest! 
America has proved herself as great in giving as in 

garnering wealth. 
But money does not heal the scar 
Which sears the soul of men. What of the kindly 

thought, 
The knightly courtesy, humility in pride — 
Gifts of the spirit which can not be bought? 
There is no health 

In arrogance, or in the strength which boasts. 
And would deride 

The claims of those who cannot martial hosts 
To force them. "Noblesse Oblige." From that 

old world 
In which men groped towards the light. 
And, groping, bound themselves with iron chains 
Of Privilege, and Prejudice, and Fantasies, and 

Forms, 
Has passed the sceptre. No longer, scented, curled, 
Pampered, misled by intrigue, flattered by parasite, 
Does Royalty dictate the issue. Thews and brains 
Bred in the crowded cities, nurtured in the fertile 

plains 
Of free America can alone decide 



[26 



Whether that civilization shall abide 

Which trembles in the balance. It is your pride 

That 'neath the stars and stripes, no crest, no 

coat of arms, no old device 
Of mud-stained chivalry- 
Can link your purpose with a tortured past. 
The stripes for union, and the stars for liberty! 
Let that suffice ! 

That "he alone must travel who would travel fast" 
Voices that other thought your stripes deny. 
The stripes for union ! Would you then confine 
That sense of union? Give the lie 
To half your emblem? Do the stars reflect 
God's light upon a single continent 
Of this small globe, which, swinging in the firma- 
ment. 
Carries the destiny of man. 
Do you reject 
The wider plan. 
Which tells you that the call. 
Resounding on your platforms, echoed in your press, 

applauded even in your Council Hall, 
"First comes America," can never satisfy 
The souls of those who wield the sceptre? Is it not 

better than that golden phrase 
Which helped the weaker, made more strong the 

stronger, in those "good old — bad old — days" 
— "Noblesse Oblige" — be written on the flag which 

leads the van? 
So shall America not permit to die 
Her own ideal — The Real Brotherhood of Man. 



27] 



CREEDS, CONSTELLATIONS, AND CREEPING 
THINGS 



B 



HE sense of Oneness! If that only were 

achieved, 
And human brains conceived 
That greater thought which hnks 
Mankind, the sap which thrills with life 
The larkspur, poisonous red berry, and the little 

peeping frond. 
Born with a tender breath of spring into a world 

of strife, 
The fleeting moment and the Great Beyond, 
The furtive weasel as it homeward slinks 
Obscene with cruel bloodstains and yet sanctified 
In that she lives, as she had gladly died. 
To feed two cheeping, chattering little balls of fur, 
Pressing with soft, pink, clawless pads her swollen 

teats, 
Which constitute the Universe to her! 
Rapine, surrender, sacrifice, low greed, and lofty feats 
Of knightly chivalry, all inextricably bound and tied 
Into the very fabric of the lives 
Of men and mice and metals, hunter and hunted, 

prelates and butchers, doves, cormorants, 

cretaceans, prostitutes, and wives! 
If man but understood ! 
The plains of France bear witness. Seamed and 

scarred 
The barren fields are sown with skulls and bones 
To ripen into hate twixt humans yet unborn: 
The erstwhile fruitful orchard and the peaceful wood 
All charred: 



28 



Sweet homesteads ravished, women dishonoured, 

little ones forlorn. 
Is there no gain to balance? Nothing which atones? 
"A greater love no man can have than this." 
Through the long ages how those words resound! 
Stirred by a wave of generous, patriotic thought, 
(Come death! Come sickness, or the crippling 

wound !) 
They held themselves as naught, 
Embraced the steel, welcomed the shattering roar 

of cannon, and the bullet's hiss. 
If England lived — If France escaped her doom — 
If the lost provinces of Italy could be redeemed — 
If young America could show the world 
That the free banner which she had unfurled 
Could not be stained by lust of conquest. Ebb 

and flow 
Mark all the processes of Nature. Dying embers 

nurse the glow 
From which again shall leap the sacred flame. 

It has even seemed 
That the filth-crusted, dust-encumbered room 
Of human habitation 
Has been garnished, cleansed and swept. 
Whilst strong men writhed in agony and women wept, 
For the greater delectation 

Of seven times seven devils who have entered in. 
Revise your phrases! Recognize that sin 
Is clear insanity: 

That egotistic faith to which you pin 
Your hopes of gaining something which you've 

missed 



[29 



A sheer inanity ! 

*'Sic vos non vobis." When the stern crusader kissed 

The cross which made a handle to the blade 

He fain would crimson with the blood of men 

Born in a distant land, 

He failed to understand 

That he blasphemed his own ideal. 

The tide creeps higher, despite the frequent retro- 
cession, 

Now as then. 

For not less real 

Has been the blundering ineptitude which has led 

Teuton and Gaul, Celt, Slav, and many a mingled 
breed 

Welded in selfless loyalty to a mere geographical 
expression 

To suffer jubilantly without heed 

To personal advantage. Yet the red blood they shed 

On Moloch's altar is accepted as a sacrifice 

In that it marks a dawning sense 

Of the extension of the sphere of influence 

Of that great Concept which shall one day kill 

The creeds which help to float the swimmer and 
then with strangling hold 

Engulf him in a sea of self. To heal the essential ill 

It shall not suffice 

That Mongol and Aryan would as lief 

Hamper or hurt each other as a thief 

Would steal the wage that he himself has earned. 

Far more bold 

Must be man's grasp of that Infinity, 

So faint discerned — 



30] 



The infinitely small and infinitely great, 

The mite, the microbe, men, Martians, and the 

Milky Way, 
Larva of dead volcanoes, laughing children, wondrous 

webs of spiders, stinging nettles, fragrant 

flowers in May, 
Love-linked, though seemingly distraught with hate, 
Inseparate, Inviolate — 
The One in All, and All in one, which is Divinity ! 



[31] 



A MENAGE A TROIS ACROSS THE STYX 



A MENAGE A TROIS ACROSS THE STYX 

XT'S a dashed nuisance that we've lost our 
grips. 
That weird old fellow at the helm's to 
blame. 
I'm bio wed 

If I'll bestow upon these grinning boatmen any tips. 
I like this place. We'll breakfast here. The air 

was chill 
Crossing that river. Strange I cannot recollect 

the name. 
I wish I'd rowed 
To keep me warm. 

Why do you kiddies sit so glum and still? 
What does it matter where we've landed? It's 

the same 
So long as we're together. Sweetheart, lend your 

lips! 
Encircle me with your soft arm! 
That's better. Feel myself again. 
And now to breakfast. I vote we go and sit 
In the vine-trellised arbour yonder. P'raps 

we'll get a drink. 
It doesn't look as if this place 
Was ruled by that damned prohibition. Shine or 

rain 
We've stuck together since Claire made a hit 
With me, and I began to think 
In terms of real soul freedom, and this little 

Grace, 
Wife of my springtime, recognized the truth 
That man is polygamic — kept her hand in mine — 



35 



Never reproached because we found that on a 

certain plane 
We met no longer; whether it was Youth 
That sprouted fresh within me — or the brute. 
I'm not abusing any part of God's creation. 
They are just as fine 

As we are — these frank, healthy, sane, 
Erotic, questing, hunting, fighting, lusting beasts. 
Well, anyway, Grace understood and played the 

game, 
And here we are — the three of us! Doesn't 

she look cute 
In that frilled nighty? Give me your lips, Claire! 

It's blamed queer 
That after all our feasts 
Of Love and Reason, when we talked, and danced, 

and sang, 
Touched life at every point. 
And never gave a hang 

For damned conventions, we should be sitting here 
In this rum joint. 

And dressed like this, as if we three had had a call 
At midnight which we could not shirk or stay. 



"So that's it, is it? You two knew that Life 

Held us no longer — that the Moving Picture Play 

Is over for the three of us? Well, after all 

It had to come some day. 

Styx or Spoon River! Loose me for a moment, 

Claire. 
I want that little Grace, 
My wife, 



[36 



Back in my arms. Guess we've got to face 
This thing together. You, too, Claire! I 

didn't mean 
To hurt you, sweetheart. You and I 
Have got to try 

To straighten this thing out — be fair and square 
To this dear child on whose calm strength 

we've learned to lean. 
How did we die? 

****** 

"I remember now, Claire. You had sung 
And thrilled me with the passion of your 

splendid voice. 
It seemed that liquid fire coursed my veins. I 

had no choice. 
A star, low hung. 
Lit that sweet path which led 
To rapture. Grace had slipped away, 
To sleep or pray. 
You had shed 
Upon me all the generous, poignant beauty of 

your love, 
Showered upon me all the glorious wealth 
Of that wild, wayward heart, which made your eyes 
Rubies for me, your breasts great chalices of wine. 
Gave to your voice the soft caressing murmur of 

of the mating dove, 
And made your hair a mesh which held me by a 

thousand strands of gold. 
And then with stealth 
Came footsteps to surprise, 
Came Greed and Violence to snatch poor gauds 

of mine. 



[37 



And when I started to resist I felt the clinging 

hold 
Of your soft arms. One shot in panic killed us both. 
Terror had made that poor, stealing coward bold. 
And Grace here — she could not have been far 

off, Claire — 

Nothing loth 

(Not far off! By God! That mak.es one thinly. 

Oh, yes! She'd acquiesced. But was it fair?) 

Took that to drink 

Which brought her little body to the brink 

Of the dark river which we've crossed. 

So it's all over! All is won or lost. 

We three have got to face the music — count 

the cost ! 
The harvest ripens. Well, t'was I that sowed 

the seed ! 
Hi! Waiter! Where's that queer old Ganymede?" 



"Gen'man with two ladies, Sir! Wants to pay the 

bill. 
Seems that 'e's 'ad 'is fill 

And doesn't know the rules of this establishment. 
'Can't pay for wot I've 'ad?' 'e says. 
' 'Oo runs this show? Is this a bloomin' maze? 
I've 'eard,' 'e says, 'of 'umans being' sent 
Along the broad and easy path plumb down to Hell, 
Or up the straight and narrer — ^jus' two ways. 
But this would craze 
A bleedin' Archimandrite to be told' 
(You'll pardon me, Sir, if I'm overbold. 
I'm usin' jus' the langwidge w'ich 'e used) 



'That wot a fella's bought 'as not bin sold, 

And that the one 'oo pays 

Is not the chap wot's fed the biggest appetite. 

I'd rather be excused 

From entering any of the many mansions in this 

'ouse' 
(His actual words, Sir, were that 'e'd be damned) 
*If I can't settle this account. 
I'll do wot's right. 

I've never subterfuged, or lied, or shammed, 
And I'll pay up, wotever the amount.' 
In fact 'e claimed to be the one and only mouse 
As ate the cheese. 
Judg'n, 'owever, that Yer Honor's ruling in this 

case 
Seems to be likely to affect the 'uman race 
Considerable, since they've chucked the good old 

wheeze 
'Bout marriage bein' made in 'Eaven, 
I've brought the crowd along. 
I guess the little 'un supplies the leaven 
To sweeten the 'ole lump, 
Altho' she aint carollin' no sweet song. 
There's suthin' about 'er seems to brighten 

this old dump. 
Well! That's your job, Sir. 'Scuse me now! 

So long!" 



"I see you misconstrue the purpose of this Court. 
I'll not enter now 

Into those super-subtleties to which your minds 
are not attuned. 



39 



This is no anteroom to a kind of psychic health 

resort, 
Such as your quacks who flourish down below 
Construct to fit their predilections. You have 

mooned 
About your souls, and sought to justify 
A living lie 
By reference to Truths you've really failed to 

grasp, 
Altho' you've glimpsed them. Now you three 
Before me, in brief respite, stand at the last gasp 
Of those detached, encircling, envelopes of flesh 
(Drops, rivulets, then rivers, then the open sea!) 
Which for a space have circumscribed 
Those fragments of the essential. Universal stuff" 
Short loaned to you. Each held within, and peering 

through, a mesh 
Has given to each, and has from each imbibed, 
And yet in futile, human arrogance has maintained 
The personal, egoistic standpoint. You believe 
That it is not enough 
That the whole Universe of circling orbs 
Should swing in ordered, rhythmic unison; that each 

scrap 
Of interlocking, interchanging, interacting dust, 
Each particle a Cosmos which has waxed and waned, 
(Grass, fibre, shuttle, warp and woof, and, lo! 

the Final Weave!) 
Should form a part of that Infinity of Mind 
Which grasps, reflects, ordains, reacts, absorbs 
All processes — is Life, is Love, is Hope, 

the very Sap 
And Substance — Hunger, Thirst, Soft Pity, Rabid 

Lust 

[40] 



Sex, Music, Dissolution, Reconstruction, Sun and 

Wind, 
Heat, Vapour, Waves, Vibrations, Impulse, Act, 
Art, Mechanism, Ether, Poetry, Concept, Fact, 
Ape, Vegetable, Man, Sloth, Flea, and Cataract. 
All this is not enough, but you must hold 
Since we've endowed a certain fragment of our whole 
With cerebration — matter in motion whirled around 
So that the things you call volition, thought. 
Follow on certain groupings — your mentalities 

enfold 
A separate entity; that the human Soul 
Amounts to something which, as though in honour 

bound. 
We must perpetuate. It matters naught 
That all the rotting refuse of the endless forms 
In which you see life spring and life decay 
Gainsay 

Your theories. You cling 
To that which is in truth a very little thing. 
The lesson of the bees, of gin, depression, 

exaltation, calms and storms. 
Of ions, coral, crawfish, Mamelukes and Kings, 
Seed, sceptres, sickness, health, volcanoes, 

wedding rings. 
Laws, revolutions, motherhood, receding tides, 

dead stars. 
Unions of labour, churches, comradeship, fierce 

wars — 
All these escape you, since you magnify 
That little spark which animates 
The brief association of dead leaf, dead fly, 
Mist of the mountain, and the ocean slime, 



[41] 



(Which, conscious of itself. 

Desires and copulates, breeds, barters, boasts, and 

hates) 
Into a rounded whole. But neither Space 

nor Time 
Limit the vision of that conscious Universe 
In which you claim 

That each fortuitous concatenation of our element, 
Which is to Nature as the sound of insects' 

hum or as the scent 
Of flowers, shall rest forever on its little shelf 
(Marcus Aurelius, Robert Browning, Caliban, 

Wong Sin, Yourself) 
Beatified, or blighted by some cruel, vengeful, 

undiscerning curse. 
You miss our aim. 
Soft dalliance with houris, blissful adoration, 

human intercourse 
With the few atoms you've contacted with before, 
Thrills without satiety, 
A chain of transmigration with each link, 
Detached in individual knowledge from the one 

behind — 
A weird variety 

Of futile aspirations centred round the core 
Of finite consciousness which you choose to think 
To be the very Source 

Of Something sempiternal. You must clear the mind 
Of all such aberrations. Hate, Love, Fear, Remorse 
Abide. No sparrow falls and leaves the Universe 

unchanged. 
Your acts have helped or hurt 
To all time. 



[42 



I have ranged 

Beyond your comprehension. Hold to this. 

Clean dirt, 

{The sweat of agonized, effete endeavour 

Or fierce, forbidden, lusting, generous, sympathetic 

kiss). 
Noisome slime, 

{Deliberate and hypocritical denial of the truth) 
May clog and jam our mechanism, both alike. 
The one is swept away. 
Dust dancing in the sun's clear ray. 
The other, in that it retards th' appointed end, 
Endures forever. 

Confounds confusion, wrecks a myriad lives, 
Is cancerous in the heart of that which men call God. 
There is no ruth 

For meanness, self deception, Pharisaic lies. 
The man who strives 

And fails, has helped to clear the issue. Made 
The anti-toxin. The green sod 
Which lightly rests where he was laid 
Can deal with all that emanates. The little cries 
Of peewits marks the passing of that soul, 
Merged in the Infinite ; enwrapt ; oblivious ; fragment 

of the Conscious Whole. 



"I see friend Richard yawns portentously. Perhaps 

he thinks 
That all the troubles which afflict the tortured world 
— It always has been tortured; ever on the brinks 
Of endless crises — these are due 



43 



To the loquacity he has observed in Me, 
Indicative of that dread thing, senile decay. 
Instead of those harsh thunderbolts we hurled 
To drive our blithering sheep back into the fold, 
A stream of endless talk! Dick, I think that you 
Are justified. I said I would not deal in super- 
subtleties. 

But I see 
I've got you all balled up when I have only told 
The half of half of the tenth part of all that I 

might say. 
So to get back to earth! It has dawned on you 
That if my teaching holds, it matters naught 
To that dead self of yours if you have wrought 
Evil or good. Rewards, damnation, rapture, rue. 
All meaningless! A truce to metaphysics! I will 

merely hint 
At that which some day will be understood 
Even by humans. What if you are sick? 
You long for health. Thought conquers. You 

are well. 
Mind is the mint. 
Your little cosmos — revolving atoms; Sleep and 

Awaking ; 

Procreation; Brain Work; Food; 
Co-operation; Energy; Despair; Hope; Habit; 

Flame and Wick — 
Restores proportions, reckons values, skirts the 

brink of Hell, 
Emerges sane, and dances gladly down the path 

of Time. 
But when mind fails? Does not this mean 
That all the myriad component parts lack unison, 

have not the sense of rhyme, 

[441 



Fail to react, to comprehend direction, are self- 
willed? 

Now grant this comprehension ! Does the new-born 
child 

Yearn to destroy the gentle breasts which wean? 

Does the lute strive to make a rasping discord? 
Yet it happens so, 

For lack of comprehension — which is Conscience. 
Dick! 

Those fabled tortures, burnings, keeping dead 
things quick 

That they may suffer anguish, are as melting snow 

To lips all cracked and parched, compared with 
that distress 

Which shatters, rends, and tears each fibre of the 
Inner Consciousness 

Of those who k^ow. 

Who've hurt, who've hindered, made insane, un- 
clean. 

The very thing they are — the All-Pervading, 
All-Embracing, Great Unseen. 



"It comes to this. 
The lightest kiss. 

The flicker of a half -born thought. 
Repression, Inclination — all these count. 
Each a microscopic fount 

Flowing eternal. Crushed insects fertilize a tiny seed ; 
The desert blossoms. From that little weed 
Follow the chain of consequence ! A flower plucked ; 
A darting rattlesnake; Human ambitions shattered, 
brought to naught; 



45] 



Hearts broken; children wailing — a whole world 
awry. 



"And now, my friends, I've chucked 

This highfalutin' talk. I'll have a try 

To size the situation up with which we've got to deal. 

In language suited to those mortal brains 

Which shortly must be used again for making grass 

or glow worms. 
We've got to balance losses, count the gains, 
Now that you three are dead. 
In spite of all I've said 
We go through all the forms 
Of judgment. What is your appeal? 
I'll do the pleading. There is nothing sacrosanct 
About an institution planned by men and ratified 

by priests. 
Who incidentally may be thanked 
For half the troubles Flesh is heir to. Marriage 

feasts 
Occasion frequent indigestion. We continually shift 
Our standards. Many a dead Turk, 
By honest work. 

Has helped to give your little world a lift. 
Whose amorous proclivities might have justified 
— If we did things that way — 
A course in higher mathematics for that cheerful 

myth 
The Recording Angel. Your point is Richard, 

that you haven't lied 
To your most intimate associate in the game of life, 
Your wife. 



46 



All those intensely complex forces which must play 
Upon the question — heredity, environment, 

attributes 
Of mind and body — you had better leave to me. 
I'll extract the pith. 
Men are brutes. 
Mists of the mountain top are part and parcel 

of the sea. 
The sum and substance of it all is this. 
— Clasp; handshake; soft caress; sweet, clinging, 

biting kiss — 
Who has been taking, who been giving, most? 
Just when you are, just where you are, just who 

you are. 
You've got to play the game, in peace or war, 
To help and not to hinder. The kindly crutch today 
Will atrophy sound limbs unless it's thrown away 
When all the host 

Of tiny filaments of nerve and tissue tingle at the call 
Of health restored. 

Just who you are, just where you are, just when. 
The world of men 

Must gain or lose by you. The supremest test 
Is giving and taking. One loved, and one abhorred 
By the Great Purpose. That's the all in all! 
Let go the rest! 

"One of you is rotten. That means a doom 
I've only vaguely adumbrated. Grace's 

pleading eyes 
Tell the old tale. Vicarious sacrifice 
Means nothing really. We have no room 
For purely human sentiment. And yet 



[47] 



You'll miss the balance, finer than the thread 

Of finest gossamer split in a billion strands, 

If you fail to get 

The inner meaning of the thing called Love. 

We put that above 

Aught else — The love which understands, 

Surrenders, suffers, and endures when passion's 

cold and dead. 
And if this wins no solace, no respite 
For the one loved, what use has been the fight? 
Your question, Grace! It all depends, my child, 
On the reaction of the man you've loved — 

the thing you've made. 
Depend upon it you've created something which 

will aid. 
— ^A spark! A seedling! — Pass, my daughter, 

unafraid. 

"Claire, you are trembling. Rash, wayward, wild, 
You've grasped as well as given. 
Perchance, not striven 
Too hard to conquer appetite. 
Dust dancing in the sunbeam, Claire! 
You recollect my simile. Well, well! Our air 
Cannot be all pure ether. You're all right! 
****** 

"Oh, Yes! We know the women ministered for 

their own delight. 
Each in her separate way. 
There's much to say 
On your side, Richard. It's a fearful coil 
This old sex problem. Brain and brain; 
Body and body; that flashing keen insight 

[48] 



Into a world of art and beauty which is all the soul 
You humans are endowed with. Wit, laughter, 

share of toil — 
How these unite ! 
Give sense of rounded whole ! 
Pulses beat higher, comradeship ensues, 
A splendid gain, 

But clean outside that marriage contract. I will use 
A simple illustration — then have done. 
If something has been lost it often happens 

something has been won. 

****** 

"Here is a type. Rigid, affectionate, honest, clean, 

upright. 
He passes to the home where that embrace 
Which Law has sanctified, 

Shall still the throb of Nature on this day of spring. 
A familiar face. 
Lips which have never lied. 
Quiescent, acquiescent, dutiful — the wife. 
And then the sting — 
We'll skip the details; how it came about; 
The chance acquaintance ; skirt uplifted, eyes that 

brimmed. 
Then flushed with the soft dew of passion — 

Aye the sting. 
The bruise — dear bruise — the hurt — sweet hurt — 

the bite 
Of vivid, vital, pulsing, energizing Life, 
By poets hymned. 

There's something lost. Inevitable deceit, 
A hidden background. (That has been left out 
In your case, Richard.) If in that retreat 

[49] 



^ 



From rectitude and boredom there has sprung 
Real tenderness, real pity, longing for solace, 

that heartache 
Which makes men generous, something has been 

gained. 
Forces which mar are forces which can make. 
Fire can cleanse that which the smoke of fire has 

stained. 
All must be reckoned. When the urge was spent, 
The soft arms flung 

Beneath those flowing tresses, wrapt in sleep 
She lay. The glimmer of a tear 
Upon her cheek. Men prey and women weep! 
Into her shell like ear 
He murmured 'Oh! My dear! My dear! 
The pity of it !' We count that. 



"Have we arrived now, Richard? Do you sense 
The final judgment? — What I am driving at? 
We leave it in the very last event 
— You'll suffer, Richard! — to your Conscience." 



50 



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